


Cherry-Ripe

by EntreNous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry never thought much about nipples. Then one Sunday morning he runs into Charlie Weasley, and discovers a kink he never knew existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry-Ripe

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Robert Herrick's poem of the same name. For the "Everything Old is New Again" challenge at Daily Deviant I interpreted the prompt "Breasts" as extending to nipples and chests for an m/m slash scenario.

After waking with a start, Harry stumbled out of bed, fumbling his glasses on as he lurched toward the door.

When he opened the door, however, he had to pause for a moment to stare at his surroundings, still feeling the haze of sleep as he tried to remember where exactly he was. He shivered a little as he looked down, and absently pulled up his pyjama bottoms, the only clothing he wore. No stone floor, so not Hogwarts; no worn intricately-woven rugs, so not Grimmauld Place.

At last blinking at the rickety landing with the mismatched wide planks of wood situated him: he was at the Burrow again, staying with Ron and the Weasleys for a few weeks.

As of yesterday, Grimmauld Place was effectively off limits while a crew of house elves led by Kreacher completed refurbishing work. Harry had planned to help with the clean-up and restoration to mend the damages Yaxley and his cohorts had done to the house. But Kreacher more or less banished him after he tried a renovation spell and damaged the plaster in the sitting room. Harry promised he would do everything else by hand going forward, but Kreacher would not brook a dispute, shoving him toward the front door with a packed valise and mutterings of, "Master Harry is needing a proper holiday, yes, away from workings and buildings."

Ron snored loudly from the room behind him, and Harry grinned to himself at the familiar sound.

From the hue of the light seeping in just under the curtains in the bedroom, he could tell it was early morning yet. And it was a Sunday at that. Very likely Ron wasn't the only one in the house having a lie-in. So as Harry went down the stairs to the third floor, he stepped with care, trying to avoid the spots that creaked so as not to wake anyone else.

After he finished in the loo, he stretched and yawned. He had no plans for the day, no plans for the next few months, really, until Auror training began in October. Though Harry anticipated on distracting himself with restoration work at Grimmauld Place, he found his unexpected leisure surprisingly welcome. After the tensions and trials of the past year, it felt lovely to have little else on his mind that summer's morning other than the possibility of sneaking back upstairs and slipping under the bedclothes. He might as well; after all, the rest of the house still seemed abed.

When he stepped over the threshold to head back upstairs, however, he had to stop short. Someone else was awake, and Harry had walked straight into him.

"Oh. Charlie." His voice sounded rusty, and he would have coughed if he weren't already crowded against someone in the tiny space of the landing. "Didn't see you there."

"Morning, Harry." Charlie grinned down at him. "You look as if you've a bit of waking up to do yet." He gestured toward the door. "Mind if I --"

"Oh, no. 'Course not." Harry moved to step out of the way, edging toward the stairs.

They both shifted to accommodate the other, but unfortunately they moved in the same direction. As they realized they were still blocking one another and tried to correct themselves, they once again mirrored each other's motions and hindered each other all over again.

"Sorry --"

"Just --"

"If you --"

"I'll step there --"

Harry's sleep-fogged brain urged him to take the open sliver of space he spotted on the right, and he dove that way. Just as he stepped forward, though, Charlie obviously decided to charge for the same slim gap, and at the same time raised both his hands, as if readying to push the half-closed door to the bath open.

And that was how they ended up standing stock-still on the third-floor landing, Charlie's large warm hands covering Harry's bare chest.

For a moment, the only sound was of the two of them breathing heavily.

Harry swallowed. "Erm..." If his voice had sounded rusty before, the broken squeak that came out of his mouth now made it seem as if he was in need of oiling. "Charlie --" he tried again. He could feel Charlie's fingers flex slightly.

"Harry." Charlie's voice was pitched low, and his blue eyes were focused in seeming fascination on Harry's torso.

Obviously he hadn't done nearly enough waking up himself if he couldn't get his hands off Harry right away.

Harry could feel his body heat, and it wasn't only from the warmth of Charlie's hands. His mind couldn't seem to get a fix on exactly what was happening, but his heart was beating fit to burst from his chest. Charlie likely heard it; no, wait, Harry thought with dawning horror, he obviously felt it.

"Sorry, I--" Harry blurted. "I -- erm --"

Harry, trying to inch away, stumbled back toward the wall. Charlie, apparently unbalanced by the shift, lurched forward.

As they moved together, Charlie's thumbs dragged down over Harry's nipples.

Harry's sharp intake of breath met Charlie's heartfelt groan. "Christ, Harry," Charlie muttered.

A faint noise came from somewhere in Harry's throat. "I should be getting --"

Charlie nodded, apparently distracted. He hadn't yet looked up from his hands or Harry's chest. "Yeah. All right."

Neither of them moved.

Then Charlie bit his lip, and slowly trailed his fingertips along Harry's nipples.

Harry gasped as his back arched. A beat later he had ducked under Charlie's arm and scrambled up the stairs, turning the corner and pounding up to the last landing and Ron's room.

"Have a heart, mate," Ron muttered, still buried under his coverlet when Harry ran into the room and banged the door shut. "Some of us are trying to _sleep_."

  
***~**~**~**~**~**~***   


 

The morning that followed seemed excruciating to Harry.

After tossing and turning in his bed for a time, he realized he was so bewildered by what had happened with Charlie that he likely wouldn't sleep for days.

Then he opened his eyes, and realized at least an hour had passed. Ron's bedclothes were rumpled, and his pyjamas flung on the floor, which meant he'd only recently gotten up and dressed. No doubt he was downstairs with everyone else, breakfasting.

Harry decided to go downstairs like it was a normal holiday morning, still in his pyjamas. He pulled on a t-shirt. As the fabric slid over his body, skimming along his skin, he trembled. The last time anything -- well, anyone -- had touched him there was just --. He closed his eyes and decided to put what had happened out of his mind.

Of course, if he ran into Charlie at the breakfast table, it would be hard to keep the subject from his thoughts. Or Charlie's thoughts, Harry realized with a wince, as he remembered the way Charlie had stared at his chest. He frowned at his image in the mirror, standing there in a threadbare t-shirt. Charlie seemed to have a fixation on chests. Or maybe he just really couldn't resist touching Harry's chest.

Harry ran his own hands briefly over the thin fabric, realizing he could see the rounds of his nipples pressed against the shirt's material when he pulled it tight. He touched one through the cloth, tracing around the edge of it, and bit his lip. It gave him a funny frisson along the back of his neck.

So he rooted around in Ron's cupboard, and yanked on a jumper to wear over the t-shirt. That would certainly help keep him covered. Even if Charlie gazed intently at him again, it wasn't as though he could see anything. And obviously the flush Harry felt on his skin was only due to the extra layer, nothing more.

He glanced at himself in the mirror before he walked out of the room. Unfortunately, his t-shirt was old and shrunken, and the jumper of Ron's must have been from their fourth year. Together, they fitted Harry rather closely. If he were to run into Charlie again before breakfast, or at any time today, well. There were lots of tight spaces at the Burrow, not to mention the open ones -- for god's sake, Charlie had groped him right on the landing! And Harry had just stood there! Well, until he had scampered away, he had. Harry pictured how they must have looked, standing there crowded together, and had to close his eyes for a moment.

So he dug around in the closet, and found a thick scarf to drape around his neck and chest. He imagined that would create a further distraction should anyone happen to focus on his chest.

Of course, no matter what Harry wore, it wouldn't change the fact that Charlie had had his hands, his strong, capable, warm hands, on Harry's chest just hours before. Or the fact that Charlie had mistakenly rubbed his thumbs over it, and then not-so-mistakenly caressed him _there_, right at those sensitive points, with his fingertips.

As a last-minute precaution, he shrugged on an old flannel dressing gown of Ron's before going down to the kitchen.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were already laughing and chattering over eggs and potatoes, but they halted when they saw him hesitantly approaching the table, all wrapped up.

"Here you are, Harry! Now, I must see if I can't get those chickens back to normal -- when he was over yesterday, George must have fed them something strange to make them rainbow-coloured." Mrs. Weasley plunked a plate of purple eggs in front of Harry, and then bustled out the door, too busy with her household work to remark on Harry's bulky clothing.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop the others from looking askance at Harry's choice of attire.

"Aren't you feeling well?" Ginny asked, her nose crinkling in confusion. The strap of her summer top slipped from her shoulder, and she absently righted it.

"Hmm?" Harry took another step forward and tried to look as if his outfit was perfectly normal.

"All your -- well --" Ginny looked as though she was trying not to laugh as she pointed at Harry's clothing.

"Cold upstairs," Harry mumbled by way of explanation. He took a seat next to Hermione, who was wearing a gauzy top and a linen skirt, and tried not to check whether there was a place set for Charlie.

Had Charlie already eaten and gone somewhere else? Was he still upstairs, or at the foot of the stairs, getting ready to enter the room? What would he say when he saw Harry, all bundled up like that? What if he didn't say _anything_? Was Harry supposed to be the one to -- but how on earth could he say anything when he had no idea what to think about what had happened?

For a moment, he remembered the way a surge had gone through his body when Charlie touched him. He bent his head to hide his burning cheeks, and pulled the dressing gown closer.

"Are you mental?" Ron demanded. He waved a piece of toast at Harry and gestured at his own worn t-shirt. "It's hot as blazes up there."

"Do you think you've caught a chill?" Hermione asked Harry with concern.

Harry shrugged, which was a little hard to do under all his layers. He tugged at the scarf to get a bit of air circulating around his neck, but manfully ignored the sweat starting to trickle down his back.

"Well, I'm off to see Dean," Ginny announced, getting to her feet and brushing her hands off briskly against each other. "He's back from visiting his mum now, and we --"

Hermione tugged a little at Ginny's skirt, darting her eyes toward Harry.

"Oh!" Ginny's cheeks flushed as she glanced at him. "Sorry, Harry."

"What?" Harry looked up in confusion.

"I just -- I'd best be off." She hurried into the other room, and soon the words, "Diagon Alley!" were heard, followed by the _whoosh!_ of the Floo.

"She really doesn't mean to make things awkward for you," Hermione said, patting Harry's arm.

"Yeah." Harry pushed his eggs around on the plate, covering the purple bits with the fuchsia ones underneath them. He tried not to keep looking up to see if Charlie was standing in the doorway. Either he'd already been to the table, or he was on his way, and it was making Harry jumpy trying to deduce which it was.

"It's just that clearly things were going nowhere between you two. It seemed natural for her and Dean to give it another go," Hermione continued.

When Harry only gazed at her in puzzlement, she gave him a sharp look. "Really, Harry, if you'd paid more attention to Ginny the past six weeks, you might have realized what was happening."

"Don't worry, Harry. She'll come around," Ron predicted.

"She likely won't," Hermione advised. "You do realize she and Dean were writing all last year in secret whenever Dean could post a letter, don't you? And that she didn't hear from Harry at all?"

"Where's Charlie?" Harry blurted.

There was a pause, during which Hermione's brow furrowed and Ron's eyebrows rose.

"Called in to the Reserve, though it's usually his day off," Ron answered.

"Right, the Reserve," Harry said to himself. Charlie had been working at the Dragon Reserve in Dartmoor a full month now, ever since he had decided to remain in England. It was to support his family after Fred's death that he chose to move home for good, Mrs. Weasley had tearfully told Harry the day Charlie took the position weeks ago.

As Ron had noted that night, however, (after his mother was well in the other room) Charlie was also pleased he didn't have to remain abroad any longer.

"He liked it fine in Romania. But he would have returned ages ago if he hadn't had to do his part for the Order on the international front. And of course, Mum's right in that he said he wanted to be closer to family, after Fred --" Ron had stopped, his face going splotchy, while Harry grasped his arm for reassurance.

"Anyway, now that he's returned, there's work he can do in the area with the Welsh Green," Ron continued after a moment, brightening as he changed the subject.

"The Common Welsh Green?" Harry asked. He remembered the variety of dragons from the Triwizard Tournament, though the one Fleur charmed to sleep for her Task had been curled into an innocuous-seeming (though immense) bundle when Harry last viewed it.

"Not so Common anymore, are they, if they need several reserves to breed them?" Ron had remarked at the time.

Now as Harry peeled off his sweltering dressing-gown and shed his itchy jumper at the table, he took a deep breath. If Charlie had been called in to the Reserve on his day off, Harry wouldn't have to confront him or deal with what had happened earlier at all that day, or even for several days. Perhaps if he timed his movements right from this point on, he could avoid seeing Charlie alone for the rest his stay at the Burrow. Really, it was the best news he could have been greeted with that morning.

If the possibility of steering clear of Charlie really was such fine news, however, why did he keep glancing at the doorway and listening for the Floo, wondering if perhaps Charlie might finish his work early? Harry shifted uncomfortably in the t-shirt that, damp with sweat, clung to his chest, and wondered how on earth he would survive the day.

 

  
***~**~**~**~**~**~***   


 

Charlie did not, in fact, finish work early. He seemed to put in a very long day's work, at least to Harry's way of thinking. He reckoned the long summer's day made the wait seem even more extended than it was, as he reckoned he'd never seen a sun take so long to set.

Harry tried not to ask after Charlie's anticipated return much, particularly after Hermione took to giving him searching looks. He felt itchy and anxious all day, though, as though he were like to jump out of his skin if left to his own devices. Every time he went up or down the stairs, he shivered when he passed the landing on the third-floor.

By late afternoon he was so jittery Ron asked several times what had gotten into him. Finally he busied himself by catching the remaining gaudily-coloured hens straggling about the garden, and forcing them to eat the chicken feed Mrs. Weasley had dosed with Mrs. Tinter's True Hue Plumage Treatment.

Around mid-evening Ron remarked to Mrs. Weasley, "Charlie still not back?"

Harry looked up from the floor, where he was sprawled pretending to read an old issue of _Quidditch Quarterly_ while Ron and Hermione had a game of Exploding Snap.

"No. They must have needed him past his usual hours," she answered in distraction. She had two sets of needles clacking away knitting colour-coordinating cotton blankets for Victoire while she mended her flowered apron by hand. "I suppose that makes sense, considering they called him in especially today."

"Expect we'll have to start eating without him, then," Ron said, looking hopeful at the prospect of a meal soon.

"Just as soon as your father returns from George's shop -- ah, there he is!" Mrs. Weasley cried, rising from her chair to greet her husband as he came through the back door. "Ginny said not to wait supper for her, that she would have something with Dean. And just in time, too; my chicken and ham pies are done."

During dinner Mr. Weasley regaled them all with his tales of restocking at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that day, like how he had filled two straining shelves with boxes of items only to upset an entire carton of Decoy Detonators. For the remainder of the day the Detonators had scampered around the shop, hiding in odd nooks and exploding at the most inconvenient moments.

"You know, you might find George wants an extra set of hands weekdays as well, now that he's got the Wheezes open for the full hours again," Mr. Weasley suggested to Ron over pudding.

"He's got Verity, doesn't he?" Ron asked, taking a second helping.

"Of course, he's willing to pay you for your time," Mr. Weasley started.

"Yeah?" Ron grinned. "When does he want me to start?"

"You ought to negotiate something, not agree straight away without hearing terms," Hermione argued. "Don't just take whatever George wants to pay you."

"Well of course I'll _ask_ about it before I say yes," Ron said, aggrieved. The two of them began bickering about Ron's prospects while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley chatted quietly to one another, smiling.

Harry ate another bit of his pudding and pushed the plate away. Just that morning he had been looking forward to having nothing in particular scheduled; now he longed for anything to make the night go by faster.

There was the tell-tale _whoosh!_ signalling the Floo, and someone stepped into the sitting room.

Harry straightened in his chair, then slouched so as not to be noticeable, and then craned his neck to look around the door frame.

"Hullo," Ginny said in a dreamy voice as she waltzed in. She had a bit of sunburn on her cheeks.

"Oh, it's you," Harry said before he could think it through.

Ginny planted her hands on her hips and scowled at him. "Who were you hoping for?"

"Nobody," Harry said quickly. "How's Dean?" he asked immediately after in an attempt to deflect her attention.

"He's well. We had a marvellous time. Dean knows how to treat a woman," Ginny sniffed pointedly and tossed her hair.

"What does that mean?" Ron exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

"Now, Ron," Mr. Weasley cautioned.

"Only that he took me to see a film and then found a lovely bistro for us to eat at! He was a perfect gentleman, not that it's any business of yours!" she fumed.

"That sounds lovely, dear," Mrs. Weasley said as she began to clear the table. Hermione jumped up to help her, and Harry rose to lend a hand as well. "We must have Dean to Sunday supper soon."

"And he wants to take me to a Tornadoes game next weekend," Ginny continued with a malicious smile for Ron.

"The Tutshill Tornados?" Ron asked, outraged. "Can you believe this, Harry? They're only the Cannon's worst rivals!"

"Oh." Harry looked up from trying to balance two plates on his arm. "Oh, yeah. That's terrible."

"You know, you could take more interest in what Ginny's doing if you want to get back with her," Ron hissed when the others left the room before them.

"But I don't," Harry answered. It was only when the words had left his mouth that he realized he'd decided that long ago. Things had more or less fallen out that way already, so it wasn't as though any declaration was necessary, but he felt better for realizing it all the same.

Perhaps it had started, the gradual realization of what he hadn't wanted, soon after the Battle at Hogwarts. As he followed Ron to the kitchen, he remembered back to one of the many celebrations with friends they'd shared on their return. That night Neville had awkwardly asked Harry if it was difficult sharing a tent with Hermione all the while they were hunting Horcruxes.

"Not at all. Why?" Harry had asked, mystified.

"Well, you know, Hermione's quite pretty." Neville had gone scarlet. "She's gotten even prettier since you've been away."

"Oh. It wasn't a problem," Harry had hastened to answer. When he let his gaze drift over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting close together across the room, he realized with something of a start that he'd not noticed Hermione growing prettier so much as he'd noticed Ron becoming more handsome. He couldn't imagine anything _happening_ with Ron; they were like brothers. But it obviously meant something, where his eyes had lingered, what thoughts had drifted through his head when he was lying awake at night.

He'd spent the last weeks avoiding thinking through exactly what that insight meant for him. It was only since the incident with Charlie that it had all come back full force.

Ron took the stack of plate from Harry's hand and shook his head. "What _do_ you want?"

"When I figure it out, I'll tell you," Harry said lightly.

 

  
***~**~**~**~**~**~***   


 

They were sitting about reading and chatting, Ron shooting irritated looks at both Ginny and Hermione as he played Wizard's Chess with Harry, when the Floo flared to life once again.

"Charlie! You're quite late," Mrs. Weasley said, half in relief, half reprovingly.

Charlie gave her a tired smile. He had a bit of soot on his forehead. "Jones was the one couldn't make it in, and he was scheduled for double shifts."

"Well, you must be famished. Ginny, fix Charlie a plate."

"Why do I have to do it?" Ginny protested. "No one fixed me a plate when I got back late!"

"Yes, but you were off with your young man having a good time all day and Charlie here was working hard," her mother huffed.

Charlie looked at Harry for the first time since he had entered the room, an odd expression on his face.

"You always make me do things just because I'm the girl," Ginny grumbled. "I don't see why I should."

"Fine, then Ron can do it," Mrs. Weasley said in exasperation.

"Me?" Ron gestured at the chess board. "We're right in the middle of --"

"I'll do it," Harry said quickly. Ron gave him an incredulous look as Harry got to his feet and wiped his sweaty palms down his jeans. It wasn't any use avoiding Charlie, after all, not when Harry had been going spare thinking about him all day. Might as well have the talk about what had happened now.

"Oh, you've been such a help ever since you've gotten here," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Rounding up the chickens on your own, and now this." She gave Harry a fond look.

"It's almost as if he's trying to make the rest of us look bad," Ron said out of the side of his mouth to Ginny, who looked like she was considering the notion.

"I'll just --" Harry went ahead to the kitchen.

As he sliced a large portion of pie and heaped vegetables onto a plate, he heard Charlie come in after him, close the door, and take a seat at the table. Harry cleared his throat as he added a buttery roll to the top and went to set the lot of it in front of Charlie.

"Have a good time with Ginny today?" Charlie asked.

Harry nearly dropped the plate. "What? No! I mean, she was with Dean, that's what --"

At the same moment he deposited the plate on the table, Charlie grabbed his wrist.

"No?" he asked, expression intense as he gazed up at Harry.

"No," Harry confirmed in a soft voice.

Charlie yanked Harry's wrist forward, pulling Harry into his lap.

"What, wait," Harry sputtered. "I didn't -- what was all that this morning?" What of his plans to confront Charlie and settle things between them? The entire situation had gotten completely out of his hands, and he had no idea how to rein it in.

"I though there wasn't anything between the two of you any longer, but I wasn't certain." Charlie slid a hand up Harry's t-shirt. "Then this morning -- I couldn't get you out of my head all day."

"Oh," Harry whispered as Charlie laid his cheek against Harry's chest at the same time that he caressed it. "But I meant -- you don't just -- oh," he trailed off as Charlie pushed his t-shirt up to his collarbone and kissed his right nipple reverently.

"Ever since I moved back, it's all I think about," Charlie said in a hoarse whisper.

"Er. Nipples?" Harry ventured.

Charlie laughed low. "Well -- I do happen to like them."

"I noticed," Harry answered, voice shaky as Charlie caressed his. He couldn't help but press into the touch even as his cheeks burned. Amazing how things he'd never much considered had the capacity to make all thought fly from his mind when touched that way. He and Charlie were supposed to be having an entirely different sort of conversation, he was certain, but it was hard to bring himself to focus on why, especially as Charlie's hand stroked lower.

Charlie nuzzled his chest. "I thought you might've. But I meant --"

"All right, all _right_," Ron shouted just outside the kitchen.

Harry staggered off Charlie's lap just in time for Ron to bang the door open.

"Hermione wants to _talk_," Ron complained as he stormed in. "Thinks all this business with careers means I'm not taking our future seriously, and did I miss the part where we got engaged already?" He stopped, taking in Harry leaning over the counter, panting and red-faced, and Charlie sitting frozen at the table, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I'll just take this outside," Charlie said, picking up his plate and leaving for the garden.

"See, that's why I'm not sure if I should start at George's shop," Ron said, gesturing at the door Charlie had gone outside through. "Working so much, makes people odd."

 

  
***~**~**~**~**~**~***   


 

Harry blinked, squinting at the dappling of sun filtering through the treetops.

That morning Ron had woken him early, saying he wanted to get out of the house and away from the girls. Harry thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to get some time apart from everyone himself as well, maybe find the space to sort through his thoughts. So after a quick breakfast they had walked to a nearby stream Ron knew to take a swim. Afterward stretched out on a blanket to dry off, talking about nothing in particular and watching the clouds drift across the sky.

Now it looked as though Ron had made his way back to the house at some point, and Harry had fallen asleep alone.

Well, not quite alone.

Next to him sat Charlie, looking completely at peace, his legs drawn toward his chest, strong arms folded comfortably over his knees. He was gazing at the scene in front of them, but when he saw Harry was awake he smiled down at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Harry felt himself begin to go warm in a way that had nothing to do with the high sun on that summer's day. "Sorry, I just --" he began.

"What are you sorry for? It's your hols; this is exactly the kind of thing you should be doing."

"I reckon you're right." Harry turned slightly, trying to decide if he should grab for his t-shirt on the blanket beside him. The old worn-out trunks of Percy's he'd used to swim in had dried by now, and it seemed odd, him lying there half-naked while Charlie sat fully clothed beside him.

"I though you were at the Reserve today," he began.

"Have the next two days off, after yesterday's shifts." His eyes trailed over Harry.

Harry coughed. "Did you see Ron about, because --" Whatever happened next, the last thing he wanted was Ron bursting through a thicket and finding the two of them together like this.

"Made up with Hermione already, and they've gone to the market with Mum and Gin."

"Oh."

"So it's just you and me," Charlie clarified.

Harry looked up uncertainly, only to find Charlie running his finger down the smooth inside of a wide blade of grass. The white of his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest seemed very bright in the sun, and his faded patched jeans fit him well.

"You're always touching things," Harry said, his eyes following the motion of Charlie's finger. Then he winced at how strange that had sounded.

"Tactile person, I suppose," Charlie replied. He slid the pad of his first finger down the seam of the blade. When he noticed Harry watching, he grinned and twirled the blade just above Harry's torso.

"Hey," Harry objected when he felt the flick of the blade of grass on his side. He jerked away a bit when Charlie traced it under his ribcage.

"Ticklish?" Charlie asked with interest.

"No!"

"Shouldn't be a problem, then," Charlie said, continuing.

"But -- I don't --" Harry laughed. "Stop it."

"See, you are ticklish!"

"I'm not! I'm only laughing because this is silly."

"Hmm. Is it?" Charlie had trailed the tip of the grass down the center of his chest, and was now wafting it back and forth, just a wisp of a touch along the surface of Harry's skin.

"Well. Suppose I should get back inside," Harry said. He was startled by how hoarse his voice had gone.

"Why? No one else will be home for hours."

"Oh." Harry bit his lip as he watched the blade of grass skirt closer to his chest and drift back down again to breeze over his hipbones.

" 'Course, if you really want to get away from me, you can head inside." Charlie's voice was light. "I won't bother you."

"No," Harry said, his voice low. "I don't want to -- I'm all right here with you."

"Ah. Good, then." Charlie eased his legs down, turning over on to his side, facing Harry and propping his head up on his arm. His eyes were the same pale blue as the sky above, and even clearer as he touched the very tip of the blade to Harry's nipple.

"You know, you might want to _ask_ or something next time, before you go about tweaking people on the chest," Harry blurted.

The blade of grass halted, withdrew. "You're right, of course," Charlie said. He sighed. "I wasn't -- the first time truly was by mistake. I meant to talk to you about it that night. Then I returned late, and when I thought you had spent the day with Ginny, I --"

"Why?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Why what?" Charlie danced the blade of grass over Harry's belly, then up along the centre of his chest.

"Why do you have this whole thing with -- well, with --"

"Nipples?" Charlie asked, smiling slightly.

"Er, yeah."

The wide part of the grass hovered over Harry's left nipple, and then caressed lightly along the circle of it. Harry's chest rose and fell faster.

"They're sensitive," Charlie said softly.

"Suppose they are," Harry whispered back. He licked his lips as he watched Charlie drag the grass to his other nipple and brush back and forth over the hardening nub.

"Some people like long hair, or only notice tall blokes, or can't stop thinking about arses," Charlie said after a pause. "Me, I've always liked slim, lean muscles on a chest, and then those soft spots there, the way they can pucker and get hard, how silken they feel..." His lashes fluttered shut for a moment before he looked in Harry's eyes. "But it's not just that, really; it has to be someone I'm attracted to otherwise, someone I really fancy."

"So it's me as well, it's not just --" Harry gestured at his chest.

"Yeah, it's you. That's what I was trying to tell you last night, that I can't stop thinking about you since I moved back. But first I thought you were still interested in Ginny. Then when I didn't see you two together, I also didn't see you at all for weeks. Yesterday was the first time it was just the two of us, on that landing."

"You might have tried saying something first," Harry said.

"I suppose I might have. But I didn't. Because at first it happened before I could stop it. Then I couldn't stop myself once I had my hands on you, once I saw how you reacted," Charlie drew the grass over one and then the other nipple faster now, stroking with the soft flat of it, teasing with the edged sides. "Because I think you're gorgeous, and I've wanted to touch you for ages. Because I hope you want me to touch you more, so I can keep on doing this."

"Just this?" Harry asked.

"Well, this and other things." Charlie smiled slowly. He flipped the grass over Harry's chest to drop it and then drew one rough finger pad along Harry's left nipple.

"It does feel --" Harry's breath started hitching as soon as Charlie touched him directly, and now he struggled to control his voice. "I never thought much about them before you -- oh, that's..." He squirmed a little closer to Charlie. "I never thought I would like you touching me there so much."

All at once Charlie shifted partly over Harry, so that one of his legs wedged over Harry's right one, and tenderly kissed the nipple he had been fondling.

"Perfect," Charlie mumbled, taking one of Harry's nipples in his mouth just for a moment.

"You like them that much?" Harry laughed breathlessly.

"Mmm. They're perfect. You're perfect." He leaned back down, mouthing again, sucking tight so that Harry's whole body shivered, then soothing each in turn with small puffs of breath, making Harry wriggle.

Harry clutched at Charlie's fiery hair as Charlie kept kissing and biting lightly, until he was struggling for control. When Charlie worked open the buttons on his trunks and wrapped a hand around his hard cock, Harry cried out incoherently.

"Mmm, love," Charlie murmured against Harry's chest, alternating between licking and sucking Harry's nipple even as he kept his tight strokes to Harry's prick steady.

"Please, oh god, Charlie," Harry choked out. He could feel Charlie's hard length, thick and hot through his jeans, against his thigh.

Charlie kissed down to Harry's abdomen, pulled up over the head of Harry's cock, and then Harry was yanking out a tuft of grass from the earth with his right hand, tugging Charlie's long hair with the other, nearly doubling over as he came hard.

"Fuck, that was --" Harry panted. He moaned when Charlie nuzzled his belly on the way back up.

"Love how you sound," Charlie murmured. He wiped his hand on the blanket, and kissed Harry's left nipple affectionately.

"Hey," Harry managed to get out. "Hey." He gave Charlie a weak shove, moving him away from his chest.

"Hmm?"

"That's actually...starting to feel weird," Harry said with some embarrassment. When Charlie pulled away, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Hurts a bit."

"Ah." Instead of seeming disappointed or upset as Harry thought he might have, Charlie just looked pleased. "I might have gone a bit overboard with all that."

"You think?" Harry asked. He smiled down at Charlie.

Charlie rested his cheek against Harry's belly, breathing in deeply.

"I liked it, though," Harry whispered.

"I'm glad. I want to make you feel good." Charlie kissed his belly button, turning into the touch when Harry began to comb his fingers gently through Charlie's hair.

"I could probably -- if you wanted to touch me there, again -- but later," Harry hurried to add, still feeling slightly overwhelmed.

Charlie laughed. "There are other things we can do."

"Oh. But I thought you just -- that is, you seem to --"

"Just because I happen to think your nipples are lovely, doesn't mean I don't like other parts of you." Charlie grinned. "Or that I don't want to do other things to you." He reached up, sliding his palm down Harry's side, slipping back and over the curve of his arse.

"Oh," Harry said, his face heating once more as Charlie tugged down the trunks.

"All right?"

"Yeah."

Charlie pulled them both so they were facing on their sides, and drew Harry close. When he kissed him, Harry made a surprised sound -- he'd almost forgotten that was something they could be doing -- but he soon lost himself in the feel of Charlie's soft mouth against his.

When Charlie started grinding against Harry's thigh, Harry broke away slightly. "Here," he whispered, reaching to undo Charlie's jeans. When he curled his fingers to tug at Charlie's cock, Charlie made a sound very like a growl, and Harry shivered.

"Charlie?" he asked hesitantly as Charlie rolled him over on to his back soon after, thrusting against the joining of his thigh and groin.

"Yeah?" Charlie panted. He bit Harry's neck then licked along his Adam's apple.

Harry couldn't believe what he was about to ask. Then again, a week ago he'd never have believed he'd find himself next to the stream behind the Burrow, with Charlie Weasley nearly naked above him.

"I know I said later, but. Could you just -- a little more?" he said in a faint voice, pushing his chest up.

Charlie gave him a wicked grin, and lowered his mouth.

 

  
***~**~* The End *~**~***   



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